


Acta est fabula, plaudite!

by YellowDistress



Series: The Creed Documents [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Protective Tony Stark, Resurrected Peter Parker, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-31 08:52:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18587899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YellowDistress/pseuds/YellowDistress
Summary: Oneshot set weeks following Reviving Peter Parker.This is a new school. An entirely new life. So very few friends.Adjustment is hard following one's revival.





	Acta est fabula, plaudite!

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! So this is new. I decided to write this just because so many people requested an update on Peter's adjustment period after Reviving Peter Parker. So here's a little glimpse! Hopefully you guys enjoy. ❤

The school Nick Fury had stuck him in was a private school in Manhattan.

 

Blazers, ties, white button-down shirts. The whole shebang. It was the kind of school people at Midtown made fun of. Midtown had cost money, but Peter was pretty sure this was ridiculous. Especially since SHIELD hadn’t even gotten the tuition waved and Aunt May was having to rely on Mister Stark to pay for it, and it was just a big mess because Aunt May hated that. Things with Mister Stark were better, but still…Aunt May wanted to take care of him on her own again and they were struggling because finding a two bedroom apartment in New York while also paying for a private school didn’t seem to be in the cards, so she suffered and Peter watched, suffering in his own way down the hallways of a high school that was not made for him.

 

He wasn’t good at making friends either, and sure Ned knew now about his resurrection, but there was still this deep need for socialization. Ned was in college…In Massachusetts. So Peter didn’t have direct access to him. And the other kids at his school barely acknowledged his existence. Most of them had known each other since preschool and Christ, the place assigned so much homework Peter thought his brain was going to melt out of his ears. Books and books and books. But since it wasn’t science oriented, he wasn’t really learning anything he liked, but he was excelling in the STEM classes.

 

This might have been a mistake though.

 

Kids like Flash existed everywhere, he supposed.

 

Evan Woodburn was Flash Thompson’s equal. He carried himself the same way, he was cocky, he thought he was the smartest kid on the planet. The only difference was, Evan Woodburn was also six-feet tall and was constantly followed around by his baseball buddies. Peter had known to stay out of their way since day one, it seemed like the best option, Evan Woodburn was always screwing with people or talking too loudly. Supposedly his father was an oil tycoon or something, but Peter had never heard of him and wasn’t particularly impressed.

 

Especially not that day.

 

Peter usually ate lunch alone. It had just become routine in the past few weeks of being at Trinity. He had made some acquaintances, but the kids he usually sat with were on a club field trip, so that just left him. He had almost jumped out of his skin when a hand slammed onto the table beside him, causing him to look up in surprise. Looming above him was Evan Woodburn’s smirking face, and some other guys Peter hadn’t learned the names of because survival hadn’t called for that.

 

“’Sup Parker,” Evan greeted, “This seat taken?”

 

Peter didn’t get to reply before Evan plopped down with a loud sigh. His friends moved to the table behind them but they were watching, whispering amongst themselves with some kind of amusement. Evan leaned back in the chair and Peter paused eating his sandwich, setting it down as dread took hold. He wasn’t unfamiliar with guys like Evan. Because of Flash, but something told him this was going to be different as Evan flexed his fingers and grinned almost maliciously, even if it wasn’t supposed to come across that way.

 

“How’d you do on your algebra test?”

 

Peter blinked, tilting his head downward. He had a feeling Evan already knew. He sat behind him in that class, and there was a strong possibility Evan had glanced over his shoulder. But Peter just shrugged a bit, chewing the inside of his mouth before he found words, “U-um…Y’know, it was fine. Just a normal grade.”

 

“A perfect score,” Evan provided and proved Peter’s assumptions correct, “Sure that’s normal for a Brainiac like you. Where’d you even come from?”

 

Peter almost choked, “Queens.”

 

Evan looked disgusted. Anything outside of Manhattan could have been considered subpar to the kids at Trinity. Maybe that wasn’t fair, maybe Peter was making judgements about his new classmates. The kids he sat with at lunch most days were nice enough, but even then, they were usually the kids that got teased by people like Evan Woodburn. Peter looked away, and his face burned, even though it shouldn’t have. He shouldn’t be embarrassed about living in Queens, Queens was his home and he loved it. Had missed it while he was locked in the Compound.

 

The other boy replied, “Kind of weird you know…I can’t find anything about you. Not on google or Instagram or even fucking Facebook. You just popped out of thin air, dude. What do your parents do?”

 

Peter answered hesitantly, “They…well, just…business stuff.”

 

Lying smoothly was not a talent of his. He grasped at straws that didn’t exist, but clearly Evan wasn’t actually interested because he waved Peter’s anxiety off and continued, “Whatever. Doesn’t matter. Came to tell you, I need a favor. See, we’ve got that fifty page algebra packet due tomorrow and I’m going to be busy, you know how it is. Anyway, I need you to do it for me.”

 

Something told Peter this wasn’t up for debate. It was more like an order. Peter’s brows tugged downward, confusion setting in, like he was in some corny nineties movie where bullies made nerds do their homework for them. Peter blinked, glancing back at Evan’s friends behind him who were watching with smirks on their faces. It told Peter this definitely was not a negotiation. However, Peter spoke before he really had the chance to decide he was being an idiot…

 

“What?”

 

Evan blinked, looking like he was taken aback. The thing was…bullies were horribly irritating and Peter, as much as his heart pounded with anxiety, just wasn’t prepared to deal with one. He was tired, he had been sleeping on a couch for weeks because of the six-month lease on the apartment before they could move to a new one. He hated they had to move in the first place, the money it was costing his aunt, how Mister Stark was paying for the stupid school they were in.  How SHIELD made his life difficult. Evan leaned forward on his elbows and questioned, “You say something?”

 

“I said what?” Peter answered, “I…You’ve never even spoken to me before and it sounds like you’re saying I _have_ to do yours.”

 

There was this moment, where Evan’s face morphed into humor. He looked back at his friends, they were all smiling. Like there was poison behind their teeth. Peter felt a tinge of nervousness, but how could he be terrified when he had been stabbed nineteen times on a beach and had then been brought back to life? It was hard, to feel that, but he was annoyed he felt even the slightest amount of anxiety. He had died being Spider-Man, bullies shouldn’t have scared him anymore.

 

“You’re funny, Parker,” Evan reached into his backpack and pulled out his packet, shoving it towards Peter across the table. Evan’s name was already written on the front of the packet in bold ‘Evan Woodburn’ letters. Evan then stood from the table and reached out, patting Peter’s shoulder heavily.

 

“I’m expecting an ‘A’.”

 

Then he turned, walking out of the cafeteria, his friends trailing him.

 

Peter sighed softly.

 

…

 

Happy picked Peter up from school.

 

He had been in a foul mood, ever since his run in with Evan at the lunch table. His mind had been consumed by it, by the anxiety and the fact that it had basically been demanded that he comply. The truth was, a pit in his stomach formed at the thought…He always had people demanding things of him and he didn’t want a peer doing the same thing adults were doing. Happy hovered a lot, per Mister Stark’s orders. Peter processed it. Took it in and dealt with the repercussions of his revival because that was just how it worked. Things were expected of him. Specific things. Behaving was one, but he didn’t want to do someone else’s packet. Not because it would be difficult, but it was the principle of the thing.

 

They were about halfway home when Happy looked at him in the rearview mirror and questioned, “Bad day, kid?”

 

Peter looked down at his hands and shook his head, answering, “I’m just tired. This school assigns a lot of homework, you know?”

 

“Well duh, that’s how they keep these assholes up and running. Make parents think they’re teaching their kids something special by making them bring boatloads home.”

 

Peter forced a smile. But it wasn’t genuine, and it seemed tired. Maybe he really was tired. A bit sullen and annoyed and in need of a nap. He missed Midtown, and he missed Ned. But he wouldn’t get to see him for another few weeks before he would be home to visit his mother. Until then, Peter would be forced to suffer in his silence. A waiting game, of readjusting, of never-ending hiding. Evan couldn’t find him online because SHIELD made sure of that. SHIELD didn’t want Peter Parker to exist anywhere. No solid evidence he had ever lived or died. So it was all deleted. The only evidence was the fake information, his fake birth year, and the memory people had of him before death.

 

He leaned his head against the glass window until they pulled up to his and May’s apartment. Happy didn’t get out with him, and Peter simply jumped onto the sidewalk and turned, leaning his head in a bit before departing, “Bye, Happy. See you in the morning.”

 

“See ya kid,” He paused, then continued before Peter closed the door, “Oh and…You know whatever or… _whoever_ is bothering you…I’m sure Tony could take care of it.”

 

Peter frowned but said nothing in return. He simply shut the door behind himself before trotting up the steps, backpack slung over his shoulder. It didn’t feel like home on the inside, not the hallways, not the neighbors he had grown up around. Everything felt like it had disappeared in a bolt of lightning, back in their old apartment building. Peter was strangely alone. He missed home. He missed how the lobby had smelled so strongly of perfume sometimes it smothered him. He missed the loud neighbors, he missed all of the things that had seemed annoying back before, but now were a blessing.

 

Peter gripped the railing as he walked up the steps. They creaked under his feet, he had almost memorized where each were. He stepped over the loudest ones, even though he wasn’t trying to be sneaky before he made it to the fourth floor – at home it had been the seventh – and he pushed his way into their apartment. The smell of Aunt May’s scented candles met his nose and he rounded the corner into the kitchen, fully expecting to see her struggling with the kitchen sink she had been trying to fix herself for the past few days, but instead she was sitting at the small kitchen nook, someone seated on the opposite side of her.

 

Mister Stark.

 

Happy hadn’t even said anything.

 

“Mister Stark?” Peter whispered. It reminded him vaguely of coming home from school that day, of finding him in the living room, of how different things had been for him back then. Life had changed so much since. Aunt May whirled around in the nook, and she smiled at him. Like nothing was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t, Mister Stark had been hovering, but sometimes Peter was afraid of things. Now…Because of…what happened on the beach. Those thoughts were hard to deal with, but they were making him deal with them. Mister Stark was sending him to see someone, Mister Stark had killed one person and permanently damaged someone because of Peter. So sometimes he was afraid something was wrong, but it never was and –

 

“Peter!” May scooted over and patted the spot next to her, “Come sit. How was school?”

 

Peter could have laughed a little. School was shit, but what was new? Peter set down his backpack that weight a ton and he approached, plopping down beside the woman, now directly across from Mister Stark who had a small smile on his face and a mug in his hand. Oddly, this weird co-parenting thing, it was fucking strange. But Mister Stark was afraid of SHIELD and since SHIELD hovered, so did Mister Stark. Peter loved going to the Compound, loved getting to learn, but he also knew Mister Stark was part of the reason Peter wasn’t allowed in his Spider-Man suit. Aunt May was the other reason.

 

No one trusted him anymore.

 

“It was…fine,” Peter answered, looking between them, “What’s up? You guys just hanging out or…”

 

He paused, then finished, “Did I do something?”

 

Mister Stark tiled his head slightly, speaking for the first time, “Me showing up here means you’ve done something?”

 

“Usually I know when you’re coming to visit,” Peter replied.

 

Mister Stark nodded, leaning back in his seat. His arm hung over the back of the booth and stretched and Peter wracked his brain for what he could have done wrong. Today had already been pretty bad so he wasn’t looking forward to this. Mister Stark tilted his head in the slightest and looked at Aunt May who just nodded her head as well. Mister Stark then spoke, “I got a call from SHIELD. Nick Fury himself actually, such an honor, and all that. He told me your face showed up on a CCTV two nights ago…On top of a building on the Upper West Side.”

 

Peter swallowed. This time it was his turn to look at Aunt May. She had smiled at him, had seemed happy when he had come in, and she didn’t look upset with him at the moment. In fact her eyes just looked kind of…sad and understanding and maybe she got it. Maybe she got how stir crazy he was getting, being trapped in the apartment for hours and hours and then school for even more hours. His only escape really was the Compound every once in a while. That was all. Peter leaned back against the cushion behind him and he folded his arms over his chest petulantly before he looked over at the wall behind Mister Stark’s head.

 

“So…” Mister Stark hummed, “I don’t need to call Fury back and tell him he’s a complete dumbass?”

 

Peter worried on his lower lip, “I wasn’t doing anything.”

 

Mister Stark looked disbelieving and even Aunt May did as well. But it was the truth. He hadn’t been doing anything. He had just been sitting up there, had been trying to clear his head. It was always so full of things he didn’t quite understand, a whirling, a missing. He wanted to fly through the air again, he wanted to be free of this. Of everything. Of the pain in the pit of his stomach, threatening him. Of bullies, and of Trinity. He wanted to go back to the way things were before he had been stabbed. Before and before and before.

 

But things never could. He supposed they never would. He was trapped.

 

Mister Stark leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table as he explained, “Your aunt and I were talking – and if something is going on – something like Spider-Man…You need to tell us – “

 

Frustration took a hold and Peter questioned almost sharply, “How would Spider-Man be happening? You won’t give me a suit and my onesie kind of got fucked up when I was being stabbed multiple times – “

 

“ _Peter_ ,” May snapped, shock clear on her face and Peter shut his eyes, placing the back of his hand over his lips as he leaned his head back behind him. He held his eyes shut, regret instantly fumbling with him. Peter shook his head back and forth as Aunt May pulled his hand from his mouth. Peter instantly tried to amend…

 

“I’m sorry, look I’m _sorry_ ,” Peter insisted, his eyes opening. Mister Stark was watching and his face was unfaltering, there was no anger or frustration or shock like Aunt May, just…waiting. Peter swallowed, past the hollowness in Mister Stark’s eyes, “I – I just had a really long day and this was the last conversation I wanted to have I just – I was clearing my head. Nothing else, I wasn’t Spider-manning or fighting or anything…Just thinking.”

 

He looked at Aunt May and repeated, “I’m sorry.”

 

Her face softened, the anger melting away as she reached out and brushed a finger over his cheek, “Why was it a long day?”

 

“Just…school stuff,” Peter replied, “Fury has me in basically…military school. I’ve got a hundred pages to read just _tonight_. It’s like he purposefully looked for the school with the most homework.”

 

Peter jumped when Mister Stark hummed, reaching on the seat beside himself. He lifted up a box and set it on the table in front of him. Peter blinked a couple of times, trying to guess what was inside. When he opened it, Peter found his mind had been nowhere near correct about what was in it.

 

A wrist watch.

 

If Peter had to guess, a very expensive one. It was black and shiny around the edges, and Peter blinked several times, trying to process if this meant something…If there was a reason for its appearance. Mister Stark answered that for him when he cleared his throat, “Frustrations aside, Fury wasn’t happy. Tried to get more guys to follow you around and when I told him that wasn’t happening he threatened to intervene himself. So…I struck up a deal. You wear this thing and they won’t put more security on you.”

 

“And what about it would make them stay away?” Peter’s voice cracked.

 

Mister Stark took a deep breath, his eyes screaming Peter wasn’t going to be happy with what he had to say in response. But eventually he replied in a hushed tone, quietly enough that Peter could barely hear it, “It has a tracker inside of it. Something for me to keep an eye on you…and if you go somewhere SHIELD doesn’t want you to be, I can step in before they will.”

 

Step in. Step in. Yeah…because Peter was a problem, his resurrection was an issue. He looked at Aunt May, mouth pulling downward and eyes widening as he almost started to beg, even beginning to shake his head back and forth. But Aunt May shook hers as well, and interrupted before he could even speak, “This is the deal, Peter. Wear the watch, alright? Tony will be the only one with access to your location, it’s just to keep Director Fury off our backs.”

 

It was stupid how something like sitting on a roof could get him in so much trouble when he had once jumped off of them.

 

Mister Stark reached over the table and took his wrist easily, because Peter didn’t fight back. He didn’t think he could, as the watch was buckled, and he was left to stare at it, knowing very well what it held within it. What it had against him. Peter twisted it around on his wrist and he looked at Mister Stark. He knew he looked like a kicked puppy, and maybe some part of him wanted the man to see how upset this made him feel. The man simply sighed, and after a few more moments, he stood from the table. He walked towards Peter, swiping his finger under Peter’s chin, “Chin up, kid. Week is almost over.”

 

God, he wished it’d just end.

 

…

 

Peter didn’t do Evan’s packet that night.

 

He turned it in blank the next day.

 

…

Peter felt like coming back to life made him not care about some things. The threats of a bully were one of those things.

 

He wished he didn’t care about other stuff, but worries didn’t just disappear with a death experience. Not near-death, but actual death, and if anything, worries intensified. They grew stronger and stronger and Peter wished…well, he just wished it had never been that way. That it didn’t have to be. But it was that way and continued to grow. The last bell of the day rang, and Peter got up, and packed his millions of papers and books into his backpack. The watch on his wrist was foreign to him, but he ignored the weightiness of it.

 

With one swing, his stuff was over his shoulder, and he exited the classroom into the crowded hallway. He started to make his way towards the exit at the end, praying for the sweet silence Happy had to offer him. But he was stopped suddenly when someone grabbed the back of his book bag and yanked him behind himself and then sideways into the wall behind him. His head cracked against it, and Peter winced, cringing as he looked up to see Evan’s face looming above him darkly. Peter swallowed thickly, and he supposed this was where Evan was different from Flash.

 

Flash had never grabbed him.

 

The hallway silenced, the chattering of the other students stopped as they looked over, stepping away from both Peter and Evan. Evan leaned down and growled darkly, “What the fuck did you do?”

 

Peter knew exactly what he was talking about, but answered dumbly, “What are you talking about?”

 

He was shoved back against the wall once more and stars formed in his vision. Peter wished for the floor to swallow him whole, his face burned with frustration, he fought the urge to slam his fist into the side of Evan’s head, but such a thing was dangerous. Evan spoke louder this time, and Peter had to guess the only reason he wasn’t screaming was because he didn’t want to attract the attention of a teacher.

 

“You know, you little dumbass. You turned in my assignment blank.”

 

Peter ground his teeth together. He narrowed his eyes before he decided he would use his strength to push Evan off, just enough for freedom. He did so, and stepped away, putting some distance between the two of them, causing some girl to scurry out of their path, because Evan tried to follow, but Peter continued to step away. He replied sharply, “That’s how you gave it to me: blank. It wasn’t my responsibility.”

 

Evan scoffed, and rolled his eyes, “Is that what you’re all about? Responsibility?”

 

Peter felt confusion crawl up, and his brows furrowed downward. Evan must have been able to see it, because he continued in the same vicious voice that made Peter’s skin crawl like bugs were under the surface, “We all see that guy drop you off and pick you up. He’s Tony Stark’s personal driver, right? Anyone with google can see that. What’re you, his bastard kid or something? That how you got in here all of a sudden, but you don’t have his last name? I could believe it. Responsibility…isn’t that all he talks about since he and the Avengers ignored it so long there was a shit-show?”

 

That…That was bullshit. That was not Mister Stark’s fault.

 

Peter had googled enough about what had happened during his death to piece it together. A guy coming in, snapping his fingers, a gauntlet, people disappearing into dust. He had watched the news footage. He had read the Avengers’ official statement after the mess was cleaned up where they had explained what Thanos had done. People had written books, zealots had called it a rapture. Peter was almost glad he hadn’t been around for it…But he knew…he knew for a fact it was not Mister Stark’s fault, and not the fault of the Avengers. So Evan could get the hell out with that…

 

“Shit-show?” Peter whispered. He held up his fingers and snapped them together. Everyone looked on in shock, their jaws dropping and even Evan looked a bit disturbed by how flippant he was. They were traumatized. All of them. They had lived through something Peter could not imagine, but he was angry. And he hated them for the moment, especially Evan for talking about Mister Stark that way. Peter questioned, hand still raised and fingers touching, “ _That_ shit-show?”

 

When he didn’t reply, Peter continued, “You think that was their fault? From what I’ve re – _seen_ they saved your asses from Thanos. Everyone who was dusted got brought back because they fought.”

 

A girl behind him hissed sharply, “You aren’t supposed to say his name.”

 

“What is he, Voldemort?” Peter whirled, eyes burning. Everyone, everyone in that school was looking at him as if he had done something wrong. But it was the world, and everything in it, and the universe that had been unfair to him. He hadn’t done anything…he just hadn’t wanted to do Evan’s damned math packet, “It’s his name. He’s dead. Thanos is dead. But you guys don’t even care that he’s blaming the Avengers for all of that. Blaming Mister Stark and…”

 

He trailed off. It looked like he had pulled a lever that was flooding the eyes of some of the frightened students. Even Evan had gone silent. Peter went on, voice hoarse as he felt self-conscious about all of the eyes trained on him in the quiet hallway. Peter breathed deeply, and he said, “Your homework wasn’t mine to do. And…there’s worse things than turning to dust or talking about ghosts.”

 

Peter then whirled and walked towards the exit, everyone stepping out of his path as if parting the Red Sea. He pushed the doors open into the daylight that was beginning to grey with storm clouds.

 

He avoided Happy’s car waiting in the pick-up line and instead ran home.

 

…

 

Happy called him over a dozen times, until eventually the calls stopped, and Peter assumed Mister Stark had told him the watch was in Peter’s apartment, which would mean Peter was safe.

 

Aunt May was gone by the time he made it home, and he knew she wouldn’t be back until early the next morning when her night shift would end. That familiar guilt settled in, the one that screamed at him it was his fault she was having to work extra shifts. The one that reminded him of the fact that the reason they had to move was because he had come back to life. The reason she had to let Mister Stark pay for that school was because he had to be monitored by SHIELD in a small setting. The reason she struggled to sleep, was always checking on him, was because he had gotten himself murdered.

 

He threw his backpack down, before plopping down on his side into the couch cushions. There was no satisfactory slam of his bedroom door and he simply laid there, staring at the fabric in front of his face before he crossed his arms over his chest and shut his eyes. He imagined if he had hit Evan, if he had gotten expelled, what would Fury do to him them? Send him back to the facility? Order the Avengers to lock him in the Compound?

 

Peter squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to think too much about it. He tried not to dwell on it.

 

Life had just been…a mess really, since waking up at the SHIELD facility all of those weeks ago. Since this new life had been laid out in front of him, a new birth certificate, trying to make friends but not getting too close because then that wasn’t being ‘inconspicuous’. Mister Stark being around a whole lot more, and sure that wasn’t so bad, he liked having Mister Stark around, but he worried it was for the wrong reasons. That Mister Stark was just trying to keep him alive, that he felt guilty, that he didn’t really view Peter as his friend the same way Peter did. The way Peter viewed him as a guy he would like to grow up to be. Because Aunt May was great, he loved her, and she was the closest thing to a mother he had ever had, because he could barely remember his own mom. Mister Stark was the closest thing to a father he had in his life ever since the night Uncle Ben had died. It was different, Aunt May and Mister Stark were different, but important.

 

His mind drifted off with that. With thoughts of hours in the lab with Tony or trying his best to help Aunt May cook dinner, but neither of them really knowing what they’re doing. Of thinking about how Fury may never allow him to have relationships outside of that ever again…Not that he hated it. Aunt May and Mister Stark were great, but they weren’t peers. And now the peers at his new school thought he was crazy, saying Thanos’ name like it didn’t even matter. It was different for Peter though, the only perspective he had on people turning to ash was what he could find on YouTube, not much else.

 

Peter fell asleep on that thought.

 

Falling through dreams was different every night for Peter. Or evening if he was particularly bored after school. Upset, and he just wanted to sleep, but nightmares brought torture for him and his brain brought him back to darker moments. Moments of Toomes stabbing him or a bullet ripping through his skull instead of simply grazing his hairline. He remembered those things as vividly as the day they had come, and he remembered Toomes’ snarling face above him, always, always above him.

 

_“All the heroes are dead.”_

Peter couldn’t be Spider-Man anymore. Wasn’t that the same as being dead?

 

_“Why can’t I just – “_

 

_“Because you’re not dying again,” Mister Stark growled, “You put on a suit, and then what? You go out, you end up hurt, and I’m not going to survive that, and neither will May, so stop asking. You can work just as well from behind the scenes. With me, in the lab. You don’t see me in my suits anymore, do you?”_

_“But I want to be out there.”_

_“You’ll stay in the labs with me or you’ll do nothing at all.”_

Peter dreamed a lot about how those conversations could be different. His body tossed and turned on the couch, sweat forming on his brow as his heart raced, pictures in his thoughts picked up, things moved and moved and moved. His chest heaved up and down like someone had put a ton of bricks over the flesh and bones. Water was pouring from the ceiling, like rain, but it didn’t rain inside. A woman’s face – Henderson – was smiling cruelly, like Toomes had done once, teeth barred, but no blade. A gun, raised, and pointed and Peter couldn’t move from where he was, drowning in what was pouring down, breaking over his head –

 

BANG

 

It sounded like a clap of thunder, and Peter threw himself forward on the couch, gasping loudly and grabbing as his chest. His heart leapt through his skin, almost out of his white button-down shirt and the tie he still wore from the school day. His blazer was on the floor as the threw himself up, lightning cracked – the sun had gone down while he napped, and he felt disoriented, stumbling. Rain slammed into the window behind the couch and he rushed towards the bathroom, the gunshot ringing out. Even though he knew logically it hadn’t been the one to cut past his skull, it was something else – it was lightning and thunder, the city was pooling with it.

 

Peter threw himself into the bathroom, stumbling over the rug in front of the sink and into the floor. His back slammed into the side of the tub and he kicked the door shut, enveloping himself into darkness. The room was only slightly illuminated from street lamps outside, and lightning coming in and out. He couldn’t hear the usual sounds of electricity humming – leading him to believe even if he switched on the light it wouldn’t work.

 

Peter grabbed at the tie around his neck and tugged, trying to breathe, hoping its removal would alleviate the panic. The fear, whatever it was, that was smothering him deeply. He grabbed at it, held onto it, hoped it would stop. He wasn’t crying, but he wasn’t breathing and he felt too hot, he felt smothered in his skin and then and then and then –

 

Someone was entering the apartment.

 

It came like a rush in his ears, his senses dialed so high he could hardly stand it as he covered them and lowered his head. When the bathroom door opened, light poured over him, it caressed him, and when he looked up, he saw a cellphone flashlight and he saw a frowning mouth…but not much else as he was blinded and tucked into his little corner between the wall and the bathtub. The flashlight lowered and Peter’s eyes adjusted in the dim room to the fact that Mister Stark was standing there, face confused. He attempted to flip the light switch a few times, but nothing. He then set the phone aside and moved towards Peter who tried to push himself even further away, uncovering his ears.

 

“Hey…hey, it’s just me.”

 

Peter’s throat was closed up as his arms shot out and Mister Stark grabbed his wrists, much like that day in Germany when disorientation had caused him to fight. Mister Stark continued, “You’re alright – Peter, look at me, you’re alright.”

 

He stopped fighting almost immediately, brain processing the words. Right…Right, he was alright. A hand reached out and placed two fingers on the pulse of his neck and Peter sat shaking while Mister Stark seemingly counted and then grabbed Peter’s wrist once more, pressing the face of the watch. A blue hue glowed, lighting the space between them, and a heart rate appeared over the screen. Peter’s brain blacked out, as he made sense of the fact that he had apparently been wearing some sort of medical monitor as well as a tracking device. Mister Stark’s thumb swiped comfortingly over the top of his hand a few times while he studied the medical data before he waved a hand over it and it disappeared.

 

“Christ kid…the watch thought you were dying. Sent me an alert you were in medical distress.”

 

Peter grabbed at his collar and his brows furrowed with worry. Was he dying?

 

“You’re not…It was just a panic attack.”

 

Oh…

 

Peter sucked in a gulp of air, readying to speak as he pulled his knees closer to keep from touching Mister Stark who was kneeling close. Mostly because he was embarrassed. His eyes burned a little and he felt mortification drawing to a close around him, like an entire personality rather than a short experience. Peter fiddled with the watch a bit, and glanced down at it, hair falling into his eyes, disheveled and askew. Peter whispered softly, “It’s not…it’s not just a tracker, is it?”

 

“What can I say kid? You’ve got a knack for getting into trouble.”

 

Mister Stark stood, and Peter watched him in the dark bathroom as he grabbed a rag from the counter and dampened it. So apparently the water was still up and running. Mister Stark continued, offhandedly, “Your part of the neighborhood is in a blackout. Don’t worry, I sent my own guys to work on it. I figured you’d need internet for homework or something. If they let you come back to school.”

 

Peter blinked in confusion as Mister Stark kneeled back down and reached around him, grabbing the back of his head. He pushed it forward before placing the cold rag on the back of Peter’s neck, pressing it there. The uncomfortable heat, like his head was going to explode, started to disappear with the anxiety. But his stomach still churned at the statement, “What…what do you mean?”

 

“They called your aunt a few hours ago,” Mister Stark provided, “Said you were in the hallway…scaring some kids because you were talking about The War and He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named.”

 

“Thanos,” Peter provided.

 

He didn’t miss the way the hand on the back of his neck tightened. He cleared his throat simply and continued, “She’s going to have a conference with them tomorrow. You’re expected to explain what happened. Kid…people don’t talk about that. It’s not proper etiquette, a lot of people lost loved ones for weeks while we were cleaning that shit up. People turned to ash in front of one another, it was a mess, so you can’t just – “

 

“Why not?” Peter whispered, “You’re not supposed to be afraid of names, they taught us that. Isn’t that how it is? He would want us to be afraid of his name so it’s stupid.”

 

Mister Stark was clearly growing frustrated, a look flashing over his face as he ordered, “Just don’t say it. It’s as simple as that. You didn’t live through what those other kids lived through, so you can’t say that.”

 

Guilt punched him in the gut. Peter hadn’t thought of it like that. He supposed if people walked around talking about Toomes all the time he wouldn’t like that very much. Mister Stark removed his hand, but left the rag there on the back of Peter’s neck. He sat down on the floor in front of him, leaving the crouched position behind and it reminded Peter of that day that Mister Stark laid beside him when he was hiding under the bed in the Compound. Peter averted his eyes away and Mister Stark hummed softly, “So you wanna talk about it?”

 

Peter shook his head, “It was just a dream.”

 

A pause.

 

“The thunder – it…it sounded like a gunshot.”

 

Mister Stark nodded his head. He reached out and squeezed Peter’s knee tightly. Peter watched, a question lingering on his lips before it finally left his mouth in the form of a hesitant croak, “Mister Stark?”

 

The silence told him to continue, so he did, “Why do you hang out with me?”

 

Maybe it was Evan’s question. Happy always picked him up, he went to the Compound a lot more now. Mister Stark would come visit, he would bring too many gifts, he bought too much for him, so much that Aunt May eventually said their apartment didn’t have enough room for all of Peter’s new gadgets so Mister Stark started keeping them in the room at the Compound. But Peter wasn’t Mister Stark’s son. Not even his illegitimate son, so it didn’t make much sense why someone like Mister Stark would want to hang out with Peter.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I mean,” Peter breathed, “Well…I’m not Spider-Man anymore, because you and May don’t want me to be. So I’m really just some kid…Some kid from Queens. But you visit and you give me gifts and you protect me from SHIELD, but I don’t want you to do all that because you feel guilty.”

 

He was surprised when Mister Stark laughed. Like a genuine laugh escaped his lips and he looked away, shaking his head back and forth. Peter looked confused, and maybe a bit nervous at the reaction. Mister Stark spoke past a voice that screamed at him to listen, but it wasn’t loud or forceful, “I thought we already had this conversation after you almost got shot in the head?”

 

_“You’re…God…don’t you get it? I care about you, I fucking…I love you, kid.”_

_“I know, sir.”_

Peter bit his lip, “So we’re friends, right? You see me as a friend? Not just a responsibility?”

 

There was a breath, and Mister Stark swiped his finger under Peter’s chin, much like he had done when he had told him to keep his chin up. He then patted the side of Peter’s face before answering in a voice that Peter had no choice but to believe.

 

“You’re one of my _best_ friends.”

 

The smile spread across Peter’s lips without hesitation.

 

“But, as a best friend,” Mister Stark continued, “You’re gonna need to tell me why you were saying all that stuff in the hallway in the first place. Because you don’t exactly strike me as the preachy type.”

 

Peter let out a sigh, scratching the side of his face before he reached back and removed the rag from his neck. He fiddled with it between his fingers a few moments before he shrugged his shoulders simply and answered, “This kid…Evan…I swear he’s just like Flash, but worse and he…well he wanted me to do his math homework, and I didn’t – I just turned it in blank…”

 

Peter waited for a reaction, and Mister Stark didn’t, but he saw amusement under his eyes and Peter went on, “Anyway, he confronted me in the hall about it, started saying stuff about you being my dad since your driver takes me to and from school and that would be the only way I’d get into Trinity. Aaaaaaand then he started insulting you and the other Avengers for not acting sooner to prevent The War. So I got mad, and I…it’s wrong, but I _liked_ that he was scared of Thanos’ name. That I wasn’t scared of it. That I could say it and he would shut up.”

 

He looked away and finished, “I guess I liked that a bully had a name like Toomes…a name that made him feel sick. Those other kids just kinda…they were there and I was mad that they were letting him act like that and just watching it happen.”

 

Mister Stark’s jaw was set. Mouth in a line. He then said, “But you know how Toomes’ name makes you feel. You can’t do that shit to other kids.”

 

“I know,” Peter replied, “I know now.”

 

There was a nod, then Peter’s hair was ruffled. Gentler than usual before Mister Stark concluded, “May and I’ll take care of it. I can talk to the principal, see what he says. The kid sounds like a dick. Maybe tell me sooner next time if someone is screwing with you. We’re trying to keep you under the radar.”

 

He stood to his feet, and turned, opening the bathroom door wider. Peter called upward, “Mister Stark?”

 

“Hm?”

 

Peter breathed, “You’re one of my best friends too.”

 

The man’s mouth upturned slightly, before he patted the doorframe and ordered.

 

“C’mon. Let’s go see how they’re comin’ with the electricity.”


End file.
